


Heart, Jump With Joy

by sakesushimaki



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: M/M, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesushimaki/pseuds/sakesushimaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy kind of falls for Gale’s pillow marks, but Gale kind of already gave his Joy Division shirt to someone else. Or did he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart, Jump With Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Andrews Sisters’ _[Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7k0tvuD3b2A)_ , which I love for indefinite reasons. Feedback is (as always) loved with dramatic force!

There is absolutely no one who looks better right after waking up than Gale.

Hands down, no one.

When Randy realizes that he just lectured the tap, he thinks that maybe it’s time to put the wine away and go to sleep. Go to sleep so he can get up and it will be morning.

He loves how everything makes perfect sense at 1 am.

He loves that it will be morning soon.

The thought makes him smile deliriously and his heart do that bouncy thing.

He is a sick, sick man. He knows that. What he’s doing is sick. He’s only torturing himself. It would never— The unusually shiny kitchen counter interrupts his train of thoughts.

He goes to pour himself a glass of milk.

While he waits for the fridge door to close itself — it doesn’t — Randy feels a craving for granola. He’d buy some in the morning. It would be morning soon.

Randy loves Saturdays.

He taps into his bedroom, humming that _Oh Johnny, Oh!_ song his mom used to love. He hears his cell phone skid across the floor somewhere. When he falls into bed, he makes a mental note to search for it first thing in the morning.

Croissants are the last thing on his mind that night.

 

+

 

In the morning, he is righting the green doormat with his foot while he waits — granola box jammed to his side, a bag clutched in his hand, and his head almost totally not dizzy.

Gale takes pillow marks to a whole new level. He leans against the door frame, squinting against the bright light. “So, I guess it’s Saturday then?”

Randy has gotten used to that little bounce in his chest by now. He grins and steps inside, memories of Saturdays that were slept away only a vague memory.

The milk from Gale’s fridge doesn’t smell quite right anymore, but also not alarming. Randy pours and watches tiny bits of granola floating up in the white.

At least if he’ll get sick after this, it’ll teach him. Teach him what a pathetic idiot he is.

For now though, he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care because when he looks up again, Gale is wedged into the corner of his giant couch and Randy happily goes to take the other side. Gale is wearing only sweatpants and even from the other end of the couch Randy can still see the pillow imprints on his neck.

“You know, I’m starting to forget how my lazy Saturdays went before you started showing up here each week at the crack of dawn.”

“8:30 is hardly the crack of dawn, Gale.” Randy hates how defensive his voice sounds.

“It is to me. At least on the weekend.”

And for a moment, Randy is pissed at the fact that it used to be to him, too.

But Gale. And granola. And pillow marks.

The moment passes quickly.

 

+

 

Gale starts fucking _production girl_ on her birthday.

She invites them all to a little _get-together_ after work, and Randy sees it coming long before Gale himself does. The way she laughs and tosses her hair and touches him all the time, the way Gale is comfortably buzzed and smiles his relaxed smile and just accepts her advances.

Randy leaves early that night. His excuse is the headache he is going to drink himself into at home.

Happy fucking birthday to her.

 

+

 

Randy manages to tune out the part about Gale fucking production girl most of the time. He and Gale still hang out like they used to, but each time he drives home from Gale’s or vice versa, he can’t help but wonder if Gale calls her up as soon as Randy is out of the picture for the day.

One night, Randy picks up that slightly weird but not bad-looking camera man who’s been hinting for months and regrets it as soon as the door clinks close behind them. The guy attempts some lame conversation about cars and Randy considers showing him out again. But then T… or C… no, _Steve_! So, Steve obviously gets the idea all of a sudden and starts opening his shirt and pants. He’s hot and Randy is horny, although in a way that feels slightly twisted.

When Randy has Steve bent over the couch arm, he’s already made him come once. It’s good and tight and Randy loves how Steve moves his hips move back into him, loves the moaned words of praise that tumble from his mouth. But something is still off; just a little. So he presses even deeper, dead set on finding some kind of spectacular relief that will make it all okay.

The stupid _Indiana Jones_ ringtone that indicates Gale’s calls goes off in the kitchen and five seconds later, Randy comes, grunting his surprise.

 

+

 

The next day on set, Randy is still a little pissed at Gale. He tries to hide it and act normal because it’s not like Gale actually _did_ anything.

He’s kind of a shitty liar.

As a result, Gale is being extra nice and Randy hates it. Hates that Gale would go out of his way to appease him, regardless of not being _in fault_ in any way. Hates that he is pissed in the first place. Hates that Gale is fucking production girl.

Then Steve comes up to him and gives him his phone number. Randy nods non-committally and puts the scrap of paper in his pocket, just because it’s the quickest way to end the stilted conversation. When he turns around, Gale is staring at him in a way that Randy doesn’t know how to process.

They have a few takes together and the atmosphere is awkward. And then the same tiny scene needs to be redone a thousand times.

The director is kind of an idiot.

In the end, the joint frustration eases the mood between them and by lunch they’re almost back to normal.

 

+

 

The first time Randy jerks off to Gale, it’s Friday night. It feels as fantastic as only something completely wrong could.

He comes even harder the second time.

 

+

 

Saturday morning is the day before Gale flies to see his family over their two-week shooting hiatus.

Randy figures that it would be particularly obvious if he flunked out of their — or _his_ — Saturday ritual now, and the thought of not seeing Gale before he’s off for a week or two isn’t so cool.

Randy picks up the expensive muffins and scones and heads out to Gale’s.

The doormat is for once not askew and Randy instantly finds the aura wrong.

It becomes toxic when the door is opened.

 

+

 

Half an hour later, he’s feeding the 9-bucks muffins to the pigeons in the park.

She wore one of Gale’s old band shirts, had her hair all _sexy-messy_ , and the smell of freshly brewing coffee surrounded her.

Randy wanted to puke and with the bags clutched in his hand, he just walked away.

He turns and tries for a smile with the old lady with whom he’s been sharing the bench. An accusation as to him trying to poison the poor birds is what he gets back.

Randy throws what’s left of the muffin at the stupid birds and decides that he hates Saturdays.

 

+

 

The next couple of days feel rainy and cold, though Randy never quite makes it outside to check.

He is depressed and exhausted for no good reason — it’s not like he didn’t know that Gale is straight — and sleeps till noon every day.

He wonders how he will ever again manage to get up at 7:30. It seems impossible.

The doorbell wakes him at _entirely-too-early_ , and Randy plods to the door, realizing that he has no idea what day it is.

“So, Rands, I think I’ve got this figured out.” Gale brushes past him and Randy can only stare.

But Randy’s brain is only just booting. “Huh?”

Gale leans against the narrow kitchen island and smiles.

Randy is suddenly aware that he looks like shit. That his hair is probably sticking out all over the place and that he’s only wearing the pair of pajama pants he stained with OJ after coming out of the shower last night.

“I think you’re in love with me.”

Randy is substantially more awake now. He blinks, nervously, obsessively. He opens his mouth, but he’s got nothing.

“Do you disagree?” Gale asks, all calm and relaxed. Damn him.

All Randy can do is shake his head.

“Good.” Gale nods at the counter. “It’s Saturday. I brought you breakfast. Muffins, croissants, that fruit mix you like.”

Randy notices the bag for the first time. He looks at the bag, then at Gale. At the bag. At Gale. “Gale, what…?”

Gale scratches his chin. “You know how you showed up at my place last week and Linda opened the door?”

How could he forget. “Yes.”

“Well, I came out of the shower just then, but when I got to the door, you were already getting into your car.” His fingers wander to the back of his neck. “Apparently, I was staring after you so — I quote — _longingly_ … that she felt completely uncomfortable and left within two minutes.”

Randy just blinks.

“It was kind of the last clue I needed.” Gale shrugs.

He _shrugs_. Like it’s all… like… no. Randy blinks some more.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

Randy blinks harder.

The bounce in his chest is familiar. The dryness in his throat is new.

Gale moves forward.

“Wait!” Randy moves too, away, rounding the counter.

“What?”

“Our first real kiss can’t be a morning-breath kiss!”

Gale frowns. “Randy.”

Randy gulps and knows that that’s it. Gale will walk away now. Gale is realizing right this second that Randy is and idiot with OJ on his pants and that he’s into women.

“You can’t even imagine how little I care about that.”

Randy blinks.

Gale blinks.

Randy bites his lip.

And then Gale just takes off.

Randy quickly shuffles to the other side of the counter. “Gale!”

But Gale follows. Follows each time Randy takes another spin around the kitchen island.

In the end, Randy has just enough time to reach inside the bag and pop a piece of fruit in his mouth before he is tackled to the couch.

Pineapple is going to be their new favorite breakfast fruit.

 

+

 

They eat breakfast on the floor, with their backs against the rumpled and probably wrecked couch. It has started falling apart years ago, but Randy just isn’t good with goodbyes.

He thinks that it will be even harder now.

After pouring himself the third mug of coffee, Gale suddenly asks about Steve.

Randy almost laughs. “It was a complete one-time thing.” He quickly recounts the evening and decides to leave out the detail about his getting a boner each time the _Indiana Jones_ re-run ad was on TV in the last days. He takes a bite from his muffin and rubs his foot against the rug. “So, um, what about you and…” Did production girl have a name?

“I only slept with her twice. I don’t even know why. She was more than willing and I was… well.” Gales reaches around Randy to blindly dig into the mixed fruit container. A dorky smile forms on his face when he comes up with a piece of pineapple. He drops a kiss on Randy’s naked shoulder before popping the fruit into his mouth. “Can you believe she just put on my _Joy Division_ shirt like that? Why would she do that?”

No, Randy can’t believe that. Those shirts were Gale’s babies. But Randy can’t really talk about t-shirts right now. He gulps. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with her?” Or, you know, _women_?

“Naw. She sucks at making coffee.” Gale grins as he puts his mug on the table.

Randy feels the soft fingers in his hair, the breath on his ear, before the lips connect with his neck.

He holds his breath and waits for the bounce.

“Besides,” Gale mumbles, leaving coffee-moist spots all over his collarbone. “Nobody looks as good as you right after waking up.”

Ah, there it is.


End file.
